


(The Terrible Adventures of) Bug Squad

by gnimmish



Category: Ant-Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 19:33:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18453182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gnimmish/pseuds/gnimmish
Summary: Fighting Thanos sucks. Turns out it sucks even more when your stupid-brave partner throws herself on a grenade and you have to go stop her from bleeding to death in the field, aided only by an empathic alien and an unaccompanied minor in a superhero costume.





	(The Terrible Adventures of) Bug Squad

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is set during a hypothetical Endgame - obvs will be rendered canon divergent once the film actually comes out. 
> 
> CN: mentions of broken bones and blood, and one ableist slur used by a certain spaceman in rocket boots

 

 

So fighting Thanos sucks. Like, it’s way more stress than Scott has ever been comfortable with, thanks. And he used to think of himself as someone who stayed calm in sticky situations.

But in his experience ‘sticky situations’ are, like, bank heists. Prison riots. Getting stuck in the quantum realm. Not _if we don’t win this, reality itself will shatter, half the universe will evaporate (again) and everyone you love with die_.

That’s a lot of pressure.

And there are some real high points in there, suckage wise. Like, being thousands of miles away from Cassie and not knowing if she’s okay and not being able to protect her. And that whole thing where thousands of people are already dead trying to fight Thanos’ minions, and there are bodies all over a battlefield in Wakanda and Scott hasn’t ever actually seen someone die before, not like that.

And then there’s the conversation he has with Hope in the Avengers’ jet while they’re flying out, about what to do if they find themselves in a situation like her parents’ – what happens if one of them needs to sacrifice themselves to save someone else.

“I’ll do it,” Scott says, firmly – and he mostly means it. Cap is dozing barely ten feet away, and you don’t _not_ offer to sacrifice yourself to save the world while sitting ten feet from the guy who literally did that, twice.

But then Hope makes a really grim conversation worse by taking his hand and saying: “No. You won’t. It has to be me.”

“Hope – ” Because he’s just trying to get this conversation over with as quickly as possible so he can stop having to think about it, but she’s absolutely serious.

“Scott, you have a daughter,” Hope’s voice is flat, “you’re not leaving her. I won’t let you.”

“Hope – ”

“I know what it is to lose a parent,” Hope sets her jaw, gripping his hand tightly in hers, “it’s not going to happen again. Not to Cassie.”

He can’t think about it – about either of those scenarios.  Leaving Cassie. Losing Hope.

So he kisses her, instead. “We’re just not gonna let it come to that, okay?”

She smiles, with only half her mouth. “Okay.”

Yeah, so, that conversation is one of the worst moments  in this whole ‘fighting Thanos’ hellscape.

But the very worst one is the day after they have that talk, when Hope throws herself on a damn grenade.

Scott is still yelling at her to _stop, no, Hope, don’t!_ when it goes off.

There’s this singular, out-of-sync moment where he feels the heat of the explosion, feels the force of it vibrate through his body, sees the white-hot flash and the rag-doll blur of limbs as Hope is flung skywards and experiences them all separately, in horrible detail. And then a hundred things are happening at once and most of them involve Scott screaming and Cap and someone else trying to stop him running after her.

Scott does the first thing it occurs to him to do and shrinks straight out of their grip.

“Ant-man – Scott! Goddamnit, come back! You cannot go out there!” Falcon’s voice is in the comm device in his helmet, “you’re no use to her dead!” and Scott switches it off – he doesn’t care, he can’t care –

He’s bounding across a destroyed cityscape, crumbling buildings, a collapsing bridge, wrecked vehicals – bodies – bodies – so many bodies – big, small, big, small – forgettng, deliberately, that using it like that should exhaust him in moments – using the momentum of the shrink-growth-cycle to propel himself forward, unthinking, desperate – a straight line toward where he saw her fall.

Hope is sprawled across a concrete slab – horribly exposed, unmoving, but in one piece.

The first thing he takes in is that all her limbs are still attached to her body – _awesome, great,_ _well done not getting completely disarticulated during your heroic attempt at martyrdom, Hope._ As he scrambles up onto the slab next to her, though, he can tell that her suit has taken one hell of a hit: the front is blackened and smouldering, part of her helmet has shattered. He can make out only part of her face – one tightly closed eye, a blood spattered temple.

He can’t tell if she’s breathing.

“Hope!” He takes her shoulders – nothing. “C’mon, c’mon, don’t so this to me – ”

He can’t feel for a pulse with his damn gloves on and he can’t get them off because his hands are shaking.

And now there’s shell fire. Great. Awesome. Excellent. Just pile it on.

Scott throws himself over Hope’s prone body, shielding as much of her as he can and covering her exposed eye with his hand as the ground shakes under them both, shrapnel flying through a cloud of dust – he feels something ricochet off his shoulder, something else bounces hard off the back of his head, throwing him forward.

Goddamit they can’t stay here, but moving Hope is gonna be just as dangerous.

He switches his comm back in, to approximately everybody yelling in his ear at once.

“ – get back here or so help me – ”

“ – stupid – ”

“So damn cool, man!”

“Is he dead? Oh god he’s probably dead – ”

“No one’s dead, Peter – ”

“On the contrary, many people are dead, whether Mr Lang and Miss Van Dyne are amongst their number – ”

“ – someone get me a visual – ”

“Does anyone have eyes on tic-tac?!”

“Here!” Scott shouts over the noise, “here, I’m here, I’ve got Hope – the Wasp – we’re pinned down – ”

Another explosion rattles the ground – Scott ducks under a rain of dirt, hunched over Hope.

“I need cover – someone – anyone – I can’t get her out of here on my own!”

“Okay someone get airborn and get a visual,” that’s Cap, his voice sharp and taught but as weirdly, reassuringly calm as ever, “Ant-Man, don’t move. Is she breathing?”

“No idea,” Scott is trying not to let his voice shake, “I have no idea – she’s out, she’s hurt, I don’t know how bad – Jesus Christ Hank’s gonna kill me – _Janet’s_ gonna kill me – ”

“Incoming!” That’s not on the comm, that’s someone above his head – someone who drops out the sky practically on top of him, carrying someone else – the alien, the insect-y bug-eyed one whose name Scott can’t pull up right now (…Cricket?) “Boom! Gotcha!”

It’s the dude who’s not an alien who’s somehow with the aliens. Star – something.

“Mantis, check her! I’ll cover,” Star-something drops his friend unceremoniously and she rolls and pops up again like she’s made of rubber – which, for all Scott knows, she might be.

She scuttles over to Scott and Hope, anyway, and puts her long, thin hands over Hope’s face, pressing a couple of fingertips to where Hope’s skin is exposed. Her antennae actually light up, like today could get any weirder.

“She lives,” Mantis announces, firmly, her head on one side like she’s listening to something very far away. “She is in pain.”

“Can you wake her up?” Star-something is literally blasting shells out of the sky with some sort of ray gun – if Scott carefully edits out Hope potentially dying in his arms this is gonna make a really cool story for Cassie when all this is over.

Mantis takes Hope’s hand, pulls off the Wasp’s glove and presses the exposed palm to her face, apparently gleaning some new information in the process. “She is very deeply unconscious. I could rouse her, but it might damage her brain.”

“Okay so maybe don’t do that?” Scott suggests, and Mantis shrugs.

“Would it not also damage her brain if she continues to lie here and we are all hit with a bomb?” She asks, so innocently Scott isn’t sure if she’s kidding or not.

“I say we scoop her up and go,” Star-something waves a gun then has to duck when a piece of rubble the size of a car flies past his head. “Like, right now.”

“Yup, I hear that,” Scott scrambles to work out how to carry Hope – she’s not heavy, exactly, but she’s tall and there’s a lot of muscle under that suit and the suit itself isn’t light –

“Hey guys!” And there’s the spider-kid (Scott refuses, on principle, to call someone who is, at the very most, fifteen, spider- _man_. Scott is an Ant- _man,_ thanks very much – Peter Parker is, at the very most, a Spider- _teen_. A Spider- _unaccompanied-minor_ ). “Oh jeez, is she okay?”

“No!” Scott has ducked his head under Hope’s arm, trying to lever her horribly limp form upright, “she jumped on a grenade!”

“Yeah, I saw, I think I got it on video, actually, it was kind of amazing – ”

“Guys, let’s go!” Star-something has clicked up his helmet, “Mantis, stick with underoos – ”

“Man, I told Mr Stark to stop calling me that – ”

“What is an under-roos?” Mantis has, helpfully, put Hope’s glove back on and is using her sleeve to blot the blood still seeping from under her temple.

“I’ll cover your butts, just get the unconscious lady off that rock!” Star-something launches himself into the air – does he actually have rocket boots? Wow, yeah, Scott is definitely telling Cassie about those.

“Hey cool, bug squad assembled!” Peter Parker grabs Hope’s feet – at least the kid is stronger than he looks.

He gets a blank look from Mantis and Scott is, frankly, too frozen with horror at the way Hope’s still bleeding and unconscious and her arm isn’t meant to bend that way, oh god –

“Get it? Cause – like – Spiderman, Mantis, Wasp – we’re all kinda – bug-themed – forget it.”

“I’m gonna jump down, you two need to hand her to me,” Scott ducks another explosion as it rattles his teeth in his head, “gently.”

“We are not going to throw her, that would be silly,” Mantis intones.

“Yeah we got this Mr – Ant,” Peter considers for a second, “what’s your actual name?”

“Scott! You know that!” Scott lays Hope back down, leans down just to touch her, just for a second, to reassure himself, and then scrambles for the edge of the concrete.

“But I mean like – you’re Scott what? Is your last name literally Man?”

Why in the hell are they having this conversation now? In a pinch, it beats ‘so, we’re all totally fucked, huh?’ but really? They’re on introductions right this minute?

“No – no, it’s Lang,” Scott’s boots hit the ground and he reaches up, “Pass her down – hurry up!”

“Wait, you’re Chinese?”

“No! That’s a common misconception – it’s Scottish. It literally means tall.”

Mantis and Peter get Hope over the edge of the concrete slab, feet first, and Scott ends up sort of awkwardly taking her weight over his shoulder.

“Hah, tall, that’s funny,” Peter jumps down, bringing Mantis with him, “you know – cause – you shrink – but I guess you grow too – ”

This kid might actually succeed in irritating Hank Pym more than Scott himself does. Scott makes a mental note to introduce them.

They stay ducked against the underside of the slab, Scott holding tight to Hope, feeling her shallow, ragged breaths through her suit and trying not to count them. “I’m Scott Lang, she’s Hope Van Dyne, you’re Peter Parker, she’s Mantis and that’s – Star Duke – ”

“Star Lord,” Mantis corrects. “His name is also Peter.”

“That’s gonna get confusing.”

“It isn’t really,” Mantis shakes her head. “Peter Quill is much taller than Peter Parker and Peter Parker is dressed as a Terran arachnid.”

“Great, thanks for that distinction.”

“Wait, did you say _Van Dyne_?” Spider-Unsupervised-Child-In-A-War-Zone abruptly yanks his mask off, his eyes wide, “she’s Hope Van Dyne? As in Janet Van Dyne? As in Hank Pym? As in the Pym particle? That Hope Van Dyne?”

“Uh, yeah,” Scott squints at him.

Peter clamps both his hands over his mouth. “Oh my god. Oh my god, I’ve always wanted to meet her, she’s incredible, her paper on the practical applications of quantum physics changed my life – her parents’ work _changed the universe – ”_

“Okay, you know what, if we get her out of here alive I’ll get you an autograph,” Scott’s legs are starting to cramp crouching like this with Hope on top of him, “emphasis on the alive part – ”

“Right, yeah, okay.”

“Hey bug squad!” Star Lord (Lord? Really?) is shouting over their heads, “I’m gonna clear you a path at ten o’clock – Cap says there’s a med-evac about a mile that way.”

 _A mile?_ Scott swallows down a spike of helpless dread. There’s just no way that Hope, in her current state, is gonna survive that sort of journey with them dragging her body through this kind of carnage. She needs an ambulance, a hospital, sterilised medical equipment, a goddamn defibulator –

Another explosion nearly throws him onto his face, showering them with dust. Peter Parker hastily puts his mask back on.

“You gotta run for it on three, do you copy?” Starlord’s voice is firm. “Mr Ant-Man, do you hear me?”

“Yes!” Scott yells back, “Yes, I hear you!”

“I get that your girl’s in bad shape, but you gotta hold it together, man!” Starlord clicks off his helmet for a second, blinking down at them with a surprisingly chiselled jaw for someone with such a dumbass name, “I’ve been there – if we’ve got the same taste in women, she’s a tough cookie. You can get her through this, okay?”

That is definitely the most reassuring thing that a space-man in rocket boots has ever said to Scott.

“Okay!” he agrees, because he doesn’t have much of a choice – the alternative to _getting Hope through this_ doesn’t bare thinking about.

“On three!” Starlord shouts, “Underoos, take point, Mantis cover their butts – ”

“Consider their butts covered!”

“One!” Starlord clicks down his helmet and takes aim at an incoming shell – Scott can see them now, ships in the atmosphere, wheeling through an eerily clear blue sky, “Two – _three_!”

He launches himself skyward, screaming – one, two, three ships veer off after him – crazy asshole. Scott’s kinda warming to him, terrible pseudonym choices notwithstanding.

“Let’s go!” Spider-tot bounds off in the direction vacated by the ships and their shells.

No time to think, no time to breathe – Scott wrenches Hope up onto his back, trying to avoid her broken arm, and scrambles after the kid, Mantis surprisingly swift behind them.

All that shrinking and growing from earlier is starting to tell on him now, though – even with the adrenalin gurgling in his vein, his arms and legs feel like wet spaghetti, his mouth is dry, his head is pounding, he might actually be about to hurl. Hope on his back is enough to nearly unbalance him, the rough terrain not helping as he struggles through rubble. It has never been clearer to him that he’s not Cap – he’s not Thor – he’s not that giant blue guy with the tattoos. He’s just some idiot in a suit, and he’s never felt more out of his depth in his life.

Inevitably, his foot catches, and he stumbles forward – worse, his grip on Hope slips and he nearly drops her. He has a split second to decide whether to keep hold of her or stop himself from falling on his face, so he falls on his face.

It hurts, even in his helmet.

“Hey, hey, I got you!” Spider-boy is back, trying to help Scott up.

“He does not,” Mantis intones, behind them.

“Be careful, her arm’s broken!” Scott snaps, trying to get out from under his partner without jostling her too much.

“Yeah, I got it,” Spider-boy levers Hope’s shoulders up, giving Scott room to move and pick himself up. “I know what I’m doing.”

“That is a lie,” Mantis shakes her head, “you know almost nothing.”

“Thanks, Mantis.”

“You are welcome, Peter Parker.”

There’s a horribly familiar blackness creeping over the edges of Scott’s vision. “Oh god – okay – I know this is a longshot, but do you either of you carry snacks?”

He gets two bug-eyed blank looks. Christ, what are they all doing out here?

“I’m gonna pass out – I need water or something sugary or – just anything – “

And then a faintly familiar buzz – a drone – great, awesome. He’s about to pass out and leave Hope’s life in the hands of an alien insectoid and a junior superhero who’s barely out of diapers –

This isn’t happening. This _cannot_ happen right now.

Hope is critically wounded and he’s the only person in the immediate area who even vaguely qualifies as a competent adult.

“Shelter – now!” He barks, gathering Hope to his chest and pointing to a burnt out van – they run.

The drone is already smackling the path ahead of them with bullets – Scott turns his back, shielding Hope as he dives for the van with her in his arms. Peter Parker leaps after him – the kid has actually picked up Mantis to carry her with him – tough little shit, isn’t he? And Mantis does her little roll and pop-up trick on the van floor, her glowing antennae lighting up the dim interior.

A hail of bullets hits the van’s metal roof – both Peter and Mantis have the good sense crawl under what’s left of the van’s back seats. Scott hunches over Hope, making them both as small a target as he can without actually shrinking.

When it’s over, Peter peels up his mask, wiping sweat off his forehead.

“That was kinda close.”

“Yeah,” Scott takes off his helmet, “okay, I have an idea, but you guys have to help. How good are you with electronics, kid?”

Peter scrunches his face. “Depends what kind?”

“The vehicular kind.”

“Uhhh – I mean, totally up for trying it.”

“Good.” Scott carefully lays Hope down – she’s still breathing, okay, cool, an alive Hope means everything could still really be okay, maybe – and scrambles into the driver’s seat of the van.

“You gonna try and jump start this thing?” Peter asks, sounding doubtful. “Will it even go?”

“Spoken like someone who has never stolen a car before,” Scott yanks on the glove compartment – it’s stuck – kicks it – kicks it again – finally forces it open and – hallelujah, a bag of peanuts. Oh! Oh, and a goddamn screwdriver – he’s won the grand theft auto lottery. 

He rips open the peanuts and empties half of the bag directly into his mouth.

As the salt and protein starts pushing the blackness at the edges of his vision back, Scott feels – better is too strong a word – less like he’s imminently gonna have a heart attack, and nods to himself in the cracked rear-view mirror. He looks pale and freaked the fuck out and his hair is a mess, but he’s alive, Hope’s alive – he can do this.

“Okay, kid, I need you to get out and lift the bonnet on this thing.” Scott speaks with a lot more confidence than he feels, “I need you to tell me if the battery’s still intact.”

“Okay,” Peter shrugs but does what he’s told.

“Hey,” Scott twists to look at where Mantis is hovering over Hope. “Can you help me get this thing open?”

With the help of Mantis’ long, sturdy fingers, Scott pries the semi-melted plastic cover off the van’s steering column, and peers at the mess underneath – not great but way better than it could be. This van is old – probably manufactured sometime in the 90s – it doesn’t have any of the locking mechanisms that would make what he’s about to do a damn side harder in a newer model. The downside is that this van was probably falling apart even before it was set of fire and shot at by a bunch of angry aliens. He has no idea if its tires are even intact enough to roll on.

“Uh, Mr Man?” Peter is outside the van’s shattered windshield.

“You can call me Scott, Peter.”

“Okay, Scott – what does a car battery look like?”

“Uh – rectangular, about yay big?”

Peter nods, uncertainly.

Scott begins digging through the tangle of wires under the steering column until he finally pulls out the harness connector bundle he’s looking for – the one connected to the van’s ignition.

“You sure you know what you’re doing?” Peter peers in at him.

Ah, sweet summer child – Scott raises an eyebrow back. “I got two felonies and a masters degree in electrical engineering. This is the easiest thing I’ve done this month.”

“Really? I mean – the felonies?” Peter blinks. “Um, no offence, but how did you and – and Hope Van Dyne even meet?”

“I broke into her dad’s house and robbed him.”

“You robbed Hank Pym?!” Peter sounds equal parts awed and terrified.

“Yeah but apparently he kinda wanted me too. It was a whole thing. Are you looking for that battery or what?”

“Um, yeah, yes, I think I got it.”

“Good.” Scott is carefully scraping the plastic insulation off the red battery wire – hands mantis another wire and shows her how to do the same, “anything else in there that looks – like maybe it could explode?”

“Uhhh – ”

“Anything smoking? Anything leaking?”

“No.”

“Okay – stand back.” He twists the battery wires together, grabs the screwdriver and thrusts it into the ignition. “Mantis, I need you to turn this, okay? Turn it as far as it will go and keep it there.”

Mantis nods, reaching across him. Scott peels the starter wire out of the bundle he’s holding, says a quick prayer to all the insect gods and flicks it against the battery wires.

The van coughs into life like a goddamn miracle.

“Yes!” Scott thumps the steering wheel triumphantly, “go team bug squad!”

“Cool!” Peter looks genuinely impressed, “can you teach me how to do that?”

“Yeah, I don’t know if Tony Stark wants me teaching his protégé how to hotwire cars, you know?”

“Wait – did he really call me his protégé?”

Scott scrambles into the driver’s seat and revs the engine. “Time to get in, underoos!”

Of course it’s not that easy. Of course it’s not. _Find a vehicle, hot-wire it, drive Hope to safety_ – a straight-forward plan? Today? Yeah, no.

The van is straining under its own weight immediately – they’re driving on two flat tires, no windshield, some majorly fucked up suspension, and an engine that might be about to drop straight out onto the tarmac. They’re also driving through rubble and roads with bomb craters in them and there are hostile spaceships flying overhead. Not Scott’s favourite ever field trip. Even though Mantis has turned on the van radio – which is somehow still working – and tuned it to some station broadcasting obnoxious pop songs. And it would ordinarily be kind of hilarious, that an alien psychic likes Bruno Mars and Cardi B – but also, Scott’s partner is dying in the back of this van while he tries to steer it through a hellscape so –

And then Hope wakes up.

“I did not wake her!” Mantis holds up her hands demonstrably.

Hope groans, prone in the back of the van like a dying seal, trying to twist onto her side.

“Hope, honey, gonna need you to hold still for me!” Scott shouts back at her – receives a week moan in response. Crap, she’s super out of it.

“I can make her sleep?” Mantis offers, “she will injure herself if she keeps moving.”

“Yeah I realise that,” Scott grits his teeth, glances at Peter. “Any chance you know how to drive a stick?”

Peter gives him a look of raw terror at the very idea.

Yeah, well, tough shit. Hope needs him.

“Okay, crash course – try not to take that literally – first, second, third, forth, fifth – forget about fifth, you won’t need fifth – probably just stay in third unless you slow all the way down, then you go to first – pedals here – break, clutch, accelerator – steering wheel – I need you to just – ”

“No, no, no, I don’t have a licence!” Peter shakes his head frantically.

“And yet you’re somehow loose on your own in a warzone!” Scott points out, “get in this seat, keep your foot on the accelerator and try not to kill us all!”

Peter looks set to refuse again, but Scott grabs him by the scruff of the neck and hauls him into the driver’s seat as he vacates it – forcing Peter to grab the steering wheel if they don’t want to all go careening into a huge chunk of masonry in the middle of the road. Mean? Yeah. Worth it to get out of that seat and go hold Hope’s hand? Absolutely.

“Hi,” he peers into her face – her one exposed eye is bleary, unfocused. Scott fumbles for the catch on her helmet – it releases with a juddering sound it should not be making – and crap, Hope’s hair is slick with blood. The shattered visor must have cut her up pretty good. “How’re you feeling?”

“ _Hurts_ ,” Hope mumbles, screwing up her face.

“Yeah, well, that’s what you get when you jump on a grenade, dummy,” Scott keeps a tight grip on her good hand, using his other one to steady her shoulders, making sure she won’t try to sit up.

“Ugh.”

“Yeah, _ugh_ – ugh is right – let’s definitely never do that again, okay?”

One corner of Hope’s mouth curls into the ghost of a smile. “You worried ‘bout me?”

“Yeah, yeah I am terrified out of my mind right now, as it happens.”

“That is true,” Mantis puts in, behind them.

Hope’s blurry gaze focuses at last, her brow furrowing. “Am I – hallucinating?”

“No, that’s an alien. A good one. We like her.”

“Hello,” Mantis waves at her, “I am Mantis.”

“Oh. Great. Another insect.”

“Yeah,” Scott smoothes some of her matted, bloody hair off her forehead, “welcome to the bug squad, honey bee.”

She smiles properly at that – because she hates that pet-name. The last time he used it she threw a slice of toast at his head and called him a cornball.

Mantis is still watching them concernedly, hunched over the skeleton of a back seat. “I can make you sleep if you would like. Until we reach safety.”

“I – no, I gotta – stay awake,” Hope grimaces. “Where are we?”

“A van.”

“Who’s driving?”

“A twelve year old.”

“I’m sixteen!”

“That is a lie,” Mantis interrupts.

“It’s not a – I’ll be sixteen in like a month!”

“Oh my god,” Hope clamps her eyes closed.

“We’re heading for a med-evac, we’re not far now,” Scott insists, though he has no idea if that’s true or not.

“You are in pain,” Mantis leans around Scott to peer anxiously into Hope’s face, “I can help you, I can take the pain away for a short time, if you will let me touch you.”

Hope looks doubtfully at Scott – who shrugs. “The alien lady says she can help, I’d say let her help.”

And Mantis is about to take Hope’s hand, right when Hope starts coughing up blood.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Hope wipes the blood off her chin with a disgusted look, smeering it across her jaw – then gasps in pain, clamping a hand to her side. Her breathing is beginning to sound wet, which is not generally how you want breathing to sound at all.

Broken ribs? Yes, duh – punctured lung? Pretty much certain after dragging her through gunfire and falling face down with her on his back. How long till it totally collapses? How fast will she suffocate?

“Spider-boy, gonna need you to speed up, buddy!”

“I’m trying, we’re not exactly in friendly terrain here! Also I’ve never driven anything before, this is a really terrible plan!”

“Okay, okay, hang on – ”

“Scott,” Hope grabs his wrist as he tries to stand up, “you have to tell my parents – ”

“I don’t have to tell them anything because you’re gonna be fine.” He tries to pull away from her but she won’t let him go.

“You have to tell them I love them, okay?”

“You’re gonna tell them yourself.”

“ _Scott_. Promise me.” Jesus Christ she’s gonna break his heart.

“Okay,” he slides to his knees next to her, “okay, I promise.”

“I love them, and I’m sorry I – ” she tries to draw breath and can’t, coughing – more blood – awesome. “I love them, and I love you, and I’m sorry.”

She’s never said that to him before – not ‘I love you’ and definitely not ‘I’m sorry’ – ‘I’m sorry’ has never been Hope’s style.  And sure, the l-word was coming – he was gonna say it, he was definitely trying to find the right moment to say it – he’s been thinking it since before Germany, for god’s sake –  but he hasn’t yet, and now he’s gonna have to say it here, in hell, while he’s watching her choke on her own blood because she’s too stupid-brave for her own good.

“I love you too,” he leans down and kisses her, quickly, gently, “I love you so much, and you don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

“So this is romantic, huh?” She emits a gasp of laughter that sounds kinda hysterical.

“Yeah well, what did you think, that we’d be going to dinner and a movie when I asked you to come save the universe with me?”

“No, this is better,” Hope squeezes his hand. “Wouldn’t change it.”

Her lips are going grey – jesus fucking shit – she can’t die, she cannot die, not here, not like this.

“Uh, Scott?” Peter’s voice is sharp with urgency from the driver’s seat, “I don’t think I can steer around this!”

What the actual H. fucking Christ now?

Scott wrenches himself away from Hope, leaving her to Mantis’ tender mercies, and scrambles for the front seat.

And yes, Peter’s right, he definitely can’t steer around ‘this’, because ‘this’ is half a skyscraper that some asshole has just dropped on its side in the middle of the hightway. Also, it’s swarming with those chronies Thanos uses. Because of course it is.

“Okay, get in the back,” Scott pushes Peter out of the driving seat, “do not let my partner die – either of you!”

The good news is that he can see that Thanos’ people are swarming because there’s an Avengers jet on the ground – the med-evac. The bad news is that it’s on the other side of the damn sky scraper and he can’t see any way around the thing without them falling in a crater or coming up against some massive slab of fallen concrete and a bunch of very hostile robot-alien-monster things.

 _Think!_ One Masters degree, two felonies, two trips to the quantum realm – surely, _surely_ he can figure this thing out –

Except that all that enters his head is that book he used to read to Cassie when she was a toddler: _we can’t go over it. We can’t go under it. Oh no! We’ve got to go through it!_

And for some reason he’s hearing it in Luis’ voice. Goddam his stupid genius brain.

“Hang on to your butts, kids!” Scott pushes the van into reverse, trying to align it with the most likely looking window in the ruined skyscraper, “we’re going on a bear hunt!”

“I cannot hang on to my butt and prevent your partner from bleeding to death!” Mantis sounds genuinely confused.

“Then prevent my partner from bleeding to death, please!”

“Oh god, where is that blood coming from?” Scott tries not to hear the note of rising panic in Peter Parker’s voice. Peter Parker is a pre-schooler, he probably still panics about monsters under the bed, his panic means nothing and definitely not that Hope is dead.

“It is coming from inside of her chest cavity,” Mantis intones, which isn’t helping Scott concentrate.

“Things are about to get a little rough, just fyi!” Scott has spotted what he’s looking for – two parallel windows across the length of the skyscraper – he can see right through to the other side – to where all the alien-robot-monsters are hanging out, but that’s a problem for sixty-seconds-from-now-Scott. “Hang on to something! Preferably Hope!”

“Is that a metaphor or do you mean the actual woman?”

“The woman, Peter, the woman!”

And before Scott can think too hard about what he’s about to do he jams his foot down on the accelerator.

The van careens forward, its broken suspension jarring Scott so hard his butt actually leaves the seat – he throws up his helmet, ducks low against the steering wheel – and the van crashes through one blown out skyscraper window.

For a surreal couple of heartbeats, they’re driving through an open plan office pace thrown on its head – bits of cubical and desk chair and smashed computers everywhere – and the radio is still playing _why the hell is the radio still playing Bruno Mars songs what kind of station only plays Bruno Mars songs?!_

And then they’re crashing through the opposite window and out the otherside of the building – right into the middle of a firefight between Thanos’ monster things and whichever Avengers are manning the jet. But Scott doesn’t have time to freak the fuck out about all the lasers and explosions right now because all he can see is the jet, the ramp down, the open cargo bay, and the med bay just beyond –

They barrel through three bad guys and hit the jet ramp doing at least 90 miles an hour, which is impressive for a van that is definitely about to burst into flames. Scott breaks, swerves, and they skid to a halt sideways, through some crates of stuff that he really hopes were not important.

Distantly, he’s aware that he’s screaming like a lunatic. That Mantis and Peter in the back might also be screaming. That the fucking radio is still playing goddamn Bruno Mars.

That Hope is worryingly silent.

“Load her up!” Falcon – looking all Falcon-y – strides up the ramp after them, “we’re moving out, now!”

“Copy that!” Black Widow – Natasha – Nat – charges past him, heading for the pilot’s seat.

Scott retracts his helmet, kicks open the driver’s side door and staggers out into the jet as the ramp closes – is just about aware of Starlord careening into the cargo bay with that talking raccoon on his shoulder, when his knees nearly give out from under him. The peanuts didn’t totally reverse the whole ‘wet spaghetti’ situation, then.

Sam grabs him by the back of his suit.

“You okay there, tic-tac?”

“Yeah, awesome, great,” Scott feels like he’s about to throw up.

“How’s Mrs tic-tac?”

“Her name is Hope Van Dyne,” Mantis emerges from the back of the van, “and she is aspirating blood.”

 “Well that ain’t good,” the raccoon remarks, like that’s something all raccoons walk about saying.

“Yeah, no it’s not,” Scott scrambles for the back of the van – Hope’s eyes are closed, her hands clasping her chest, her breathing a horrible gurgle. “Hey – hey – honey, stay with me – ”

The jet shudders violently, and for a moment Scott thinks they’ve been hit by something – but then realises they’re just taking off, the ground dropping away.

“Okay, I think she has a punctured lung, I don’t know – I – ” turns out without being actively shot at Scott has way too much time to focus on how close he is to losing his partner, and he’s not enjoying it.

“I got her,” Peter insists – and what do you know, he actually does? The kid picks Hope up like she’s nothing at all, hops out the van and carries her to the med bay.

Hope’s face is grey when Peter gets her onto a table – Sam is grabbing an oxygen mask, an IV – and Mantis is cutting the ruins of Hope’s suit away from her upper body, talking quickly, serenely, about how her pulse is erratic and that her physiology cannot withstand further blood loss –

Scott can’t move. Can’t breathe. Can’t think. He holds Hope’s hand and tries really hard not to pass out.

“Please,” he mumbles, into her palm, “c’mon, honey bee, please.”

She cracks one eye open, bleary and unfocused but glittering with something like recognition. “ _Cornball_ ,” she rasps, and Scott laughs so hard he might start crying.

“Honey bee, really?” Starlord is just hanging out in the back of the med-bay, raiding a jar of lollipops he’s found stashed in some cupboard – cause what else is a space-man in rocket boots gonna do while Hope Van Dyne is dying?

“What? It’s cute!” Scott retorts because god yes, give him an argument over having to watch the colour leaching from Hope’s face.

 _“Lame_ ,” Starlord rolls his eyes. “She’s a badass, she should have a badass pet-name.”

“Yeah she has one _– it’s The Wasp_.”

“See, that’s way better.”

“Man, don’t make me come take those lollipops off you, because I will do it – ”

“Okay, ma’am, real sorry, but this is gonna hurt,” Sam says, right before he takes the biggest needle Scott has ever seen and stabs it between two of Hope’s ribs and into her chest.

Hope makes a sound like a drowning animal – there’s a gush of blood out the other end of the needle like a goddam gutter draining – and then Hope inhales, deeply, properly. Scott thinks he might really pass out this time – god there’s a lot of blood on the floor –

“Oh that’s so gross,” Starlord screws up his face.

Mantis places an oxygen mask over Hope’s face. “Try to breathe normally.”

Hope mumbles something unintelligible, then gives her a thumbs up.

“That should hold her for now,” Sam nods, satisfied. “We’re a couple of clicks out from the nearest medical facility. You just hang in there, ma’am. Starlord, Rocket – you guys up for clearing our path?”

“Always.” Starlord salutes and follows Sam out, leaving the bug squad alone.

Mantis is showing Peter how to place an IV in Hope’s arm.

“ _Falcon’s so polite_ ,” Hope rasps, her voice ragged but her own – vital, alive. “ _I see why you like him_.”

Scott snorts. “Yeah, I guess he’s not always an asshole.”

Peter glances up. “Hey Miss Van Dyne – when you’re better – do you have like – any first editions of your dad’s books lying around? Cause I will pay you literally my entire college fund for one of those.”

Hope manages a bubble of laughter –  faint, pained, but genuine. “ _I’ll see what I can do_.”

 She sounds kinda okay. Like she didn’t almost just die in front of Scott’s very eyes.

“She will need surgery to repair her ribs and any further damage to her respitory system,” Mantis declares, pulling a blanket up to Hope’s shoulders, being careful not to touch her chest drain. “But she is strong. She will live.”

“Of course she’s strong, she’s bug squad,” Peter grins. “I mean, insects are eventually going to become the world’s number one protein source, so.”

Mantis squints at him quizzically. “That does not seem like a relevant fact.”

“You’re right, it’s not, it’s just cool.”

Yean, no, there’s a lot of Hope’s blood on the floor and – Scott is too hot and too cold at the same time, all of a sudden, and his suit is too tight and his head is swimming –

The plane shudders through something that might be turbulence or might be gunfire, and Scott’s legs give out.

“The Ant-Man is having a panic attack,” Mantis informs the room. “He should sit down.”

“Okay,” Peter pushes Scott toward a chair, “just take a couple of deep breaths.”

“I am not – taking – breathing tips – from an infant – ”

“I’m not a – ”

Mantis touches out a single finger to Scott’s forehead. “You are calm.”

And abruptly Scott’s vision rights itself, and the cold dread that has taken root in his stomach wilts, and he can breathe right for the first time in like an hour, and actually he just feels kinda warm and sleepy and good. He sits down heavily on the floor, blinking.

“Wow – okay – whatever that is, _it’s some good shit_ – ” he can feel himself talking more slowly than he normally would, but it doesn’t quite seem to matter anymore. And the floor is just looking rapidly more inviting. “I’m just gonna…” but who needs to form the ends of sentences anyway?

He slides onto his back, gazing contentedly up at the ceiling.

Hope catches Mantis’ eye. “Thank you.”

And Mantis only shrugs, modestly, then holds out a fist for Hope to bump, in a gesture she definitely learned from Starlord. “ _Bug squad_.”

“ _Bug squad_ ,” Hope agrees, and then she glances down at Scott, and smiles like she feels okay.


End file.
